To me!
Yes, it's today. I share my birthday with Michael Jackson, Richard Attenborough and Lenny Henry. Of course only I have a cult following, so that makes me the most important.
I have been given some wonderful gifts from the lovely Trump, who is doing very well enduring our time here in Norfolk. She is very grateful to Sony for its manufacture of the PSP, while her killing lots of people in the virtual world of Grand Theft Auto seems to be preventing her from killing me.
Back soon, but not for long - I have a jet-set lifestyle to maintain, you know.
Ci vediamo!
Sniffy
Tuesday 29 August 2006
Thursday 24 August 2006
The hottest August since time began
Apparently.
Or at least that's what was being said at the end of July, a month where UK temperatures had been hovering steadily around the 30°C mark.
With a week of August 2006 left, I can't remember the temperature getting above 20°C, or the sun coming out. It's been fucking horrible and so very depressing.
You see, the end of August marks the end of summer. Once my birthday is out of the way, it seems that autumn is well and truly round the corner and another summer has gone. We have the next nine months of darkness and cold and misery to get through before there's any hope of feeling the warm sun on our bones again. By that time, we'll be just that little bit older.
So there you have it. Summer is over and it feels like it's not even started.
Good job I'm off to Greece at the end of next week. There's nothing like all over third degree burns to remind you that hot sun and white people don't really go together and that's why pasty white people are indigenous to parts of the world where the summers are crap.
Shattered dreams
And then they go and do this to me! After years of trying to learn the planets of our solar system - and failing - I came to the conclusion that I'll ever know about half of them. Let's see:
Earth
Uranus
Mars
Jupiter
Saturn
Pluto
Neptune
Errrm, Mercury
Pluto was always one of the easiest ones because of Mickey Mouse's mate. But now, members of that strange sect, "The Mysterious They", have decided that Pluto isn't a planet afterall.
Cunts.
Or at least that's what was being said at the end of July, a month where UK temperatures had been hovering steadily around the 30°C mark.
With a week of August 2006 left, I can't remember the temperature getting above 20°C, or the sun coming out. It's been fucking horrible and so very depressing.
You see, the end of August marks the end of summer. Once my birthday is out of the way, it seems that autumn is well and truly round the corner and another summer has gone. We have the next nine months of darkness and cold and misery to get through before there's any hope of feeling the warm sun on our bones again. By that time, we'll be just that little bit older.
So there you have it. Summer is over and it feels like it's not even started.
Good job I'm off to Greece at the end of next week. There's nothing like all over third degree burns to remind you that hot sun and white people don't really go together and that's why pasty white people are indigenous to parts of the world where the summers are crap.
Shattered dreams
And then they go and do this to me! After years of trying to learn the planets of our solar system - and failing - I came to the conclusion that I'll ever know about half of them. Let's see:
Earth
Uranus
Mars
Jupiter
Saturn
Pluto
Neptune
Errrm, Mercury
Pluto was always one of the easiest ones because of Mickey Mouse's mate. But now, members of that strange sect, "The Mysterious They", have decided that Pluto isn't a planet afterall.
Cunts.
Tuesday 22 August 2006
Blue murder
I've been screaming blue murder a lot today; absolutely screaming my head off from within the confines of my car. But for most drivers, Manchester's streets have been safe from my tirades of anger, this is because I have been made rigid in body and red in the face by the City's traffic lights.
Yes, all of a sudden, after years of them working in a sensible sequence, staying on green for sensible lengths of time, the traffic lights of Manchester City Centre have gone off their tits. You know how it is when you know their habits, you know how many cars get through, and you calmly wait your turn while they're on red, knowing full well that only a minute will pass before they turn to green and you and your queuing companions make it through safely to the other side of the junction, usually finding the next set are just turning green for you. And then all of a sudden, somebody flicks a switch and it all goes very wrong.
Makes my blood boil.
Even worse is what has happened to my route home. This is a google map onto which I have indicated where there are sets of lights and pedestrian crossings on the short stretch of road known as Quay Street:
This is a relatively short, but fairly busy stretch of road, which is a major exit from the City Centre. Lots of other roads intersect it and that and it can get clogged up, but during the summer, it's a breeze and you simply fly through it on your way home.
Or you did, until the fucking wankers decided to do THIS:
Yes, all of a sudden, after years of them working in a sensible sequence, staying on green for sensible lengths of time, the traffic lights of Manchester City Centre have gone off their tits. You know how it is when you know their habits, you know how many cars get through, and you calmly wait your turn while they're on red, knowing full well that only a minute will pass before they turn to green and you and your queuing companions make it through safely to the other side of the junction, usually finding the next set are just turning green for you. And then all of a sudden, somebody flicks a switch and it all goes very wrong.
Makes my blood boil.
Even worse is what has happened to my route home. This is a google map onto which I have indicated where there are sets of lights and pedestrian crossings on the short stretch of road known as Quay Street:
This is a relatively short, but fairly busy stretch of road, which is a major exit from the City Centre. Lots of other roads intersect it and that and it can get clogged up, but during the summer, it's a breeze and you simply fly through it on your way home.
Or you did, until the fucking wankers decided to do THIS:
Yes, marked with one big red arrow is yet another set of traffic lights, which are less than about 50m from the set before them and the set after them. This set of lights, which have appeared from nowhere and which serve very little purpose, are causing the traffic to back up way up the road to the other big red arrow. This is the middle of the shool holidays, there is very little traffic around and yet the traffic was backed up as if there had been a major incident somewhere on a rainy night in November.
Just look at the map. That's four sets of lights within about 250m, only two of which are necessary. I am so pissed off.
What is it with fucking idiot councils that makes them meddle so much with the road systems? Why do they have to take a perfectly workable system and completely fuck it up? Is it because they're following some pathetic, lefty, political agenda against people who simply want get around without any hassle?
Why do they do things that actually cause congestion and how on earth do they get away with it? Is it to justify them introducing congestion charging do we think? Yes, I believe this is the case. It'd be so refreshing if they were innovative and inventive and actually introduced schemes that kept the traffic moving, instead of clogging it up. And anybody who's ever driven could offer them some suggestions: right turn filters; peak time traffic lights; intelligent traffic lights that keep the sequence going; no stopping zones. It's not rocket science, it's transport planning and any fucking numpty could do it - as is evident from the fools they seem to get to do the jobs.
Simply put, they're a bunch of fucking wankers who want stripping naked and whipping in front of all the traffic that has been generated by their own so-called strategies. How dare they take it upon themselves to impose their pointless ideologies on the rest of us. They should be made to realise that they, as public servants, are there to work for the people who live, work and use the cities. Deliberately creating congestion is nothing more than environmental vandalism and the fucking idiots should be shot.
As should taxi and bus drivers. Idiots, the lot of them. As I approached the back of the queuing traffic this afternoon, I happened to be behind a taxi cab. The traffic was stationary, but I was a bit bewildered when I saw the driver's door of the cab open and the driver get out. He was waving at me and pointing at the taxi rank that he'd decided to abandon his cab in without warning. As I pulled out around him, I shouted "You could try using your fucking indicators and give me some warning instead of just waving at me!", but I don't think he spoke English, or understood the conventions and rules of driving. Imbecile.
I may start a "Manchester City Council is Completely Shite" website. This is the same council whose neighbour nuisance team sent my sister's complaint statement to the violent and dangerous neighbour she was complaining about. Apparently, this is common practice as it gives the "accused" the opportunity to know that a complaint has been made against them and information about the nature of the complaints. What is not common practice is leaving the name, address and telephone number of the plaintiff on the documents that are sent to the nuisance neighbour. Not common practice unless you work for Manchester City Council of course.
My throat is sore this evening.
And I can't stop trumping.
And I have PMT.
Just look at the map. That's four sets of lights within about 250m, only two of which are necessary. I am so pissed off.
What is it with fucking idiot councils that makes them meddle so much with the road systems? Why do they have to take a perfectly workable system and completely fuck it up? Is it because they're following some pathetic, lefty, political agenda against people who simply want get around without any hassle?
Why do they do things that actually cause congestion and how on earth do they get away with it? Is it to justify them introducing congestion charging do we think? Yes, I believe this is the case. It'd be so refreshing if they were innovative and inventive and actually introduced schemes that kept the traffic moving, instead of clogging it up. And anybody who's ever driven could offer them some suggestions: right turn filters; peak time traffic lights; intelligent traffic lights that keep the sequence going; no stopping zones. It's not rocket science, it's transport planning and any fucking numpty could do it - as is evident from the fools they seem to get to do the jobs.
Simply put, they're a bunch of fucking wankers who want stripping naked and whipping in front of all the traffic that has been generated by their own so-called strategies. How dare they take it upon themselves to impose their pointless ideologies on the rest of us. They should be made to realise that they, as public servants, are there to work for the people who live, work and use the cities. Deliberately creating congestion is nothing more than environmental vandalism and the fucking idiots should be shot.
As should taxi and bus drivers. Idiots, the lot of them. As I approached the back of the queuing traffic this afternoon, I happened to be behind a taxi cab. The traffic was stationary, but I was a bit bewildered when I saw the driver's door of the cab open and the driver get out. He was waving at me and pointing at the taxi rank that he'd decided to abandon his cab in without warning. As I pulled out around him, I shouted "You could try using your fucking indicators and give me some warning instead of just waving at me!", but I don't think he spoke English, or understood the conventions and rules of driving. Imbecile.
I may start a "Manchester City Council is Completely Shite" website. This is the same council whose neighbour nuisance team sent my sister's complaint statement to the violent and dangerous neighbour she was complaining about. Apparently, this is common practice as it gives the "accused" the opportunity to know that a complaint has been made against them and information about the nature of the complaints. What is not common practice is leaving the name, address and telephone number of the plaintiff on the documents that are sent to the nuisance neighbour. Not common practice unless you work for Manchester City Council of course.
My throat is sore this evening.
And I can't stop trumping.
And I have PMT.
Sunday 20 August 2006
Biscuits
Why is it that every single leisuretime activity in this country has to be disturbed by noisy, unruly scumbag children and their accompanying "parents" - or whoever the people on the other side of the room are, who keep looking over and giving the occasional shout of "Are you OK there mate?"?
Why can't there be one single thing that normal people can do without their time and space being invaded by these fucking parasites?
Cunts.
Today was Blue Planet Aquarium day. Firstly, it was strange to notice how all the millions of families queued for one entry point while there were loads of others free with no queue - but you had to open a door to get these. We walked to the front and got in. Having had nothing to eat, we risked the "restaurant", which was set up a bit like a burger bar thing: choose a queue in front of a till point, wait to be served. Again, loads of people chose the first queue that they got to, and queued to the back of the restaurant, while we walked to the front of a free till. This didn't make the food any better/edible, but we avoided going hypo.
Are people really stupid or something? I mean, really, criminally stupid?
Unfortunately, there's a definite inverse correlation between fertility and IQ: stupid people really can't help but breed, and breed, and breed some more. The country has a worryingly extremely high proportion of the thickest low-life on the planet. Most of fish had nervous systems that were far more advanced than the vast majority of the fools who were gauping through the glass at them, holding their camera phones at arms length to take photos that they probably don't know how to retrieve.
In the enclosed spaces , there was a pervading smell of biscuits and stale cigarattes emanating from the least savoury amongst us. This is a common phenomenon amongst the great unwashed. It's as if they mash up biscuits with something and dip their tracksuits and hair in it. When I was young, our neighbours had the smell of eau de tomato ketchup and sour butter, this sometimes alternated with meat and potato pie; neither were pleasant, although the people weren't that bad. Is it that difficult to have a bath and get a washing machine on all your benefits? Even budgeting for fags, Diamond White and bingo, there must be something you can apply for that allows you to wash your clothes once in while.
Stinking bastards.
True Grit
Had some spinach tonight - from Sainsbury's - it was full of grit. They never show Jamie Oliver tipping a load of the stuff from a bag, "pan-frying" it and then having to bin it because it's inedible, do they? Fuckers.
Fruit
Why can't you buy fruit that you can eat from supermarkets without paying a premium rate for it? You buy either plums or nectarines that are rock hard and edible in 3 days - then they go off immediately, so you have to eat the entire punnet within the critical 3 hour window and then you get guts ache and shit yourself. Or you can pay twice the price for stuff that you can eat now. The choice is yours.
Or you could just have an ice cream or a Twix.
Why can't there be one single thing that normal people can do without their time and space being invaded by these fucking parasites?
Cunts.
Today was Blue Planet Aquarium day. Firstly, it was strange to notice how all the millions of families queued for one entry point while there were loads of others free with no queue - but you had to open a door to get these. We walked to the front and got in. Having had nothing to eat, we risked the "restaurant", which was set up a bit like a burger bar thing: choose a queue in front of a till point, wait to be served. Again, loads of people chose the first queue that they got to, and queued to the back of the restaurant, while we walked to the front of a free till. This didn't make the food any better/edible, but we avoided going hypo.
Are people really stupid or something? I mean, really, criminally stupid?
Unfortunately, there's a definite inverse correlation between fertility and IQ: stupid people really can't help but breed, and breed, and breed some more. The country has a worryingly extremely high proportion of the thickest low-life on the planet. Most of fish had nervous systems that were far more advanced than the vast majority of the fools who were gauping through the glass at them, holding their camera phones at arms length to take photos that they probably don't know how to retrieve.
In the enclosed spaces , there was a pervading smell of biscuits and stale cigarattes emanating from the least savoury amongst us. This is a common phenomenon amongst the great unwashed. It's as if they mash up biscuits with something and dip their tracksuits and hair in it. When I was young, our neighbours had the smell of eau de tomato ketchup and sour butter, this sometimes alternated with meat and potato pie; neither were pleasant, although the people weren't that bad. Is it that difficult to have a bath and get a washing machine on all your benefits? Even budgeting for fags, Diamond White and bingo, there must be something you can apply for that allows you to wash your clothes once in while.
Stinking bastards.
True Grit
Had some spinach tonight - from Sainsbury's - it was full of grit. They never show Jamie Oliver tipping a load of the stuff from a bag, "pan-frying" it and then having to bin it because it's inedible, do they? Fuckers.
Fruit
Why can't you buy fruit that you can eat from supermarkets without paying a premium rate for it? You buy either plums or nectarines that are rock hard and edible in 3 days - then they go off immediately, so you have to eat the entire punnet within the critical 3 hour window and then you get guts ache and shit yourself. Or you can pay twice the price for stuff that you can eat now. The choice is yours.
Or you could just have an ice cream or a Twix.
Wednesday 16 August 2006
Just like post-Communist Russia
My hatred of Walmart-owned supermarket chain Asda is well-documented. When Asda superstores first appeared in the late 1970s, they were actually OK. I remember them having amazing variety at really reasonable prices, with a great deli counter and superb instore bakery. Well, my mum and her sister always said it was good value for money, I wouldn't know because I was only a nipper.
Asda never had a café back then so I still preferred Tesco (which also sold clothes), but in general it was OK. Even up to about twelve or thirteen years ago, I didn't mind shopping there.
But something went very wrong with Asda, they introduced "Rollback" and it's been downhill since. I've no idea why, but "Rollback" (a con to make people think that some of their prices are the same as they were about ten years ago) has attracted all sorts of ner do wells to Asda stores around the land. I liked their special offer on papardelle last night: £1 a packet or two packets for £5 - Bargain! Idiots.
And just look at the role models who they get to advertise for them: Sharon Osbourne; Wayne Rooney; Colleen McLoughlin. That's right, a reality TV millionaire producer with a brummie accent, a thug footballer with the face of a fuck knows what and his WAG Colleen who has achieved nothing more than meeting Wayne when he was 15 and deciding it was shrewd business sense to stay with him despite him being exposed for shagging grandmother prostitutes (oh and did I mention that despite him being as ugly as fuck, thick as pigshit and Scouse, he's also really rather rich... and so is Colleen now).
So, Asda clearly thinks its clientele look up to these sorts of people and accordingly shows the respect they think their customers deserve. They do this by making their stores simply unbearable to be in, while stocking them with mediocre produce. Well, not really stocking them, because if you go at the wrong time of day, there's no fresh stock left on the shelves. I wanted some fresh crusty bread to accompany the soup that I was having for tea last night. The shelves were almost cleared of instore-baked bread and the stuff that was there was soft. It looked crusty and fresh, but was soft. It's not just because I was there in the evening either, you can go to Asda bakery at any time of day or night and the bread crust is always soft.
Diz-fucking-gusting.
I hate that fucking shop. For all of you wondering, I'm referring to the one at Eastlands, Manchester (opposite Manchester City's stadium). This store is only surpassed in fucking horribleness by the Asda store at Hulme. What makes the experience even worse is the way that other shoppers insist on taking their entire families with them at all times of night. It can be gone 10.30 at night (and on a school night!) and there'll be loads of families with young kids screaming and running around under your feet. Why? Why are these monsters not locked up at this time? Shocked and very appalled.
Why do I go there? Well, I only go there with Trump and she's now so fed up of my moaning that she's finally agreed to let me go to Tesco next time we have to go to the supermarket. Thank fuck for that!
Notice how I mentioned that Asda was owned by Walmart? Well, I went to a Walmart when I was in America and, despite feeling sick at seeing the selection of "George" clothing, I was pleased to see that Walmart doesn't sell fresh produce. Well, nor does Asda I suppose, but I wish they wouldn't pretend that they did. Fuckers.
A petition
I've been handed a request to ask people to sign a petition to prevent the government from introducing black boxes in cars and on motorbikes to limit speed by reducing the throttle or applying the brakes. That sounds safe. Have those wankers in the government never seen Christine?
Check it out
I wonder who they expect to bear the cost of this innovation...
Black pepper
I had a bit of black pepper stuck in between my teeth all afternoon and nobody told me. You don't get that with white pepper. Then again, you probably don't get that if your teeth aren't crooked.
Asda never had a café back then so I still preferred Tesco (which also sold clothes), but in general it was OK. Even up to about twelve or thirteen years ago, I didn't mind shopping there.
But something went very wrong with Asda, they introduced "Rollback" and it's been downhill since. I've no idea why, but "Rollback" (a con to make people think that some of their prices are the same as they were about ten years ago) has attracted all sorts of ner do wells to Asda stores around the land. I liked their special offer on papardelle last night: £1 a packet or two packets for £5 - Bargain! Idiots.
And just look at the role models who they get to advertise for them: Sharon Osbourne; Wayne Rooney; Colleen McLoughlin. That's right, a reality TV millionaire producer with a brummie accent, a thug footballer with the face of a fuck knows what and his WAG Colleen who has achieved nothing more than meeting Wayne when he was 15 and deciding it was shrewd business sense to stay with him despite him being exposed for shagging grandmother prostitutes (oh and did I mention that despite him being as ugly as fuck, thick as pigshit and Scouse, he's also really rather rich... and so is Colleen now).
So, Asda clearly thinks its clientele look up to these sorts of people and accordingly shows the respect they think their customers deserve. They do this by making their stores simply unbearable to be in, while stocking them with mediocre produce. Well, not really stocking them, because if you go at the wrong time of day, there's no fresh stock left on the shelves. I wanted some fresh crusty bread to accompany the soup that I was having for tea last night. The shelves were almost cleared of instore-baked bread and the stuff that was there was soft. It looked crusty and fresh, but was soft. It's not just because I was there in the evening either, you can go to Asda bakery at any time of day or night and the bread crust is always soft.
Diz-fucking-gusting.
I hate that fucking shop. For all of you wondering, I'm referring to the one at Eastlands, Manchester (opposite Manchester City's stadium). This store is only surpassed in fucking horribleness by the Asda store at Hulme. What makes the experience even worse is the way that other shoppers insist on taking their entire families with them at all times of night. It can be gone 10.30 at night (and on a school night!) and there'll be loads of families with young kids screaming and running around under your feet. Why? Why are these monsters not locked up at this time? Shocked and very appalled.
Why do I go there? Well, I only go there with Trump and she's now so fed up of my moaning that she's finally agreed to let me go to Tesco next time we have to go to the supermarket. Thank fuck for that!
Notice how I mentioned that Asda was owned by Walmart? Well, I went to a Walmart when I was in America and, despite feeling sick at seeing the selection of "George" clothing, I was pleased to see that Walmart doesn't sell fresh produce. Well, nor does Asda I suppose, but I wish they wouldn't pretend that they did. Fuckers.
A petition
I've been handed a request to ask people to sign a petition to prevent the government from introducing black boxes in cars and on motorbikes to limit speed by reducing the throttle or applying the brakes. That sounds safe. Have those wankers in the government never seen Christine?
Check it out
I wonder who they expect to bear the cost of this innovation...
Black pepper
I had a bit of black pepper stuck in between my teeth all afternoon and nobody told me. You don't get that with white pepper. Then again, you probably don't get that if your teeth aren't crooked.
Monday 14 August 2006
Sugar, sugar
Ah, honey honey! You are my candy bears...
Having posted this photo last night, something dawned on me. Any connoisseur of the espresso will be able to point out a couple of minor faults with the coffee here. Firstly, it has been delivered to the table with brown sugar and not white and secondly, the volume of coffee is a tad too much.
Why white sugar? Well it's simple really, it dissolves quicker. Brown sugar takes too long to go into solution and your coffee is cold by the time it has dissolved. The beauty of an espresso is that it is quick - gone in a mouthful. Get your coffee, couple of sugars, couple of stirs and down it goes.
You have to be wary of those places that offer you a double espresso (two shots of espresso, one cup) because they often give you a long espresso instead (this is one shot's worth of espresso with more water gone through it). Cheats! In fact, I often ask for two espressos to save them making a mistake. I get looked at funny, but that's nothing new. When you're in a place like Caffè Nero, they describe a "large espresso", I have no idea what this means so I steer well clear.
A fan in Iran!
I was checking my site stats earlier and I noticed that I had a visitor from the Islamic Republic of Iran! How very forward thinking of them, I thought. People in fascist Iran being able to look at blogs; the blogs of infidels in the West. Even worse, gay women infidels!!!! Whatever next? The Iranian president will be getting himself a blog to spout his bile, while pretending to be a man of the people and a good muslim who has struggled to get to the top, where he aims to guide his beloved people in their fight against the satanic west and Israel! Fuck.
Of course, the thing about Iran and other such places is that nobody else is allowed to have blogs, or they're very much the victims of censorship. I bet you have to be pretty high up in the Iranian food chain to be allowed to access blogs of gay women infidels. In fact, I'd like to bet that only the top man himself can access them.
That being the case, Mr Ahmadinejad, you'll never be popular in Blogworld unless you get some plastic bears on your site!
Of course, I shouldn't really complain about such Islamic regimes. They never do you any harm unless you're a westerner, a woman, gay or Jewish, or any other religion for that matter. They're really very tolerant and fine so long as you don't dare open your mouth.
I'm not saying that our societies are much cop, but at least we're allowed to voice our opinions and vote for change (not that it makes any difference) and live in a fairly equitable society - one that still has much to achieve, but at least it's one where we all recognise the need for fairness and equality and we're all pretty much bought into those ideals.
Four eyes
After threatening the purchase of new specs ages ago, I finally did the deed. Here they are:
I apologise for the pose. I have no idea what I was doing at the time.
Having posted this photo last night, something dawned on me. Any connoisseur of the espresso will be able to point out a couple of minor faults with the coffee here. Firstly, it has been delivered to the table with brown sugar and not white and secondly, the volume of coffee is a tad too much.
Why white sugar? Well it's simple really, it dissolves quicker. Brown sugar takes too long to go into solution and your coffee is cold by the time it has dissolved. The beauty of an espresso is that it is quick - gone in a mouthful. Get your coffee, couple of sugars, couple of stirs and down it goes.
You have to be wary of those places that offer you a double espresso (two shots of espresso, one cup) because they often give you a long espresso instead (this is one shot's worth of espresso with more water gone through it). Cheats! In fact, I often ask for two espressos to save them making a mistake. I get looked at funny, but that's nothing new. When you're in a place like Caffè Nero, they describe a "large espresso", I have no idea what this means so I steer well clear.
A fan in Iran!
I was checking my site stats earlier and I noticed that I had a visitor from the Islamic Republic of Iran! How very forward thinking of them, I thought. People in fascist Iran being able to look at blogs; the blogs of infidels in the West. Even worse, gay women infidels!!!! Whatever next? The Iranian president will be getting himself a blog to spout his bile, while pretending to be a man of the people and a good muslim who has struggled to get to the top, where he aims to guide his beloved people in their fight against the satanic west and Israel! Fuck.
Of course, the thing about Iran and other such places is that nobody else is allowed to have blogs, or they're very much the victims of censorship. I bet you have to be pretty high up in the Iranian food chain to be allowed to access blogs of gay women infidels. In fact, I'd like to bet that only the top man himself can access them.
That being the case, Mr Ahmadinejad, you'll never be popular in Blogworld unless you get some plastic bears on your site!
Of course, I shouldn't really complain about such Islamic regimes. They never do you any harm unless you're a westerner, a woman, gay or Jewish, or any other religion for that matter. They're really very tolerant and fine so long as you don't dare open your mouth.
I'm not saying that our societies are much cop, but at least we're allowed to voice our opinions and vote for change (not that it makes any difference) and live in a fairly equitable society - one that still has much to achieve, but at least it's one where we all recognise the need for fairness and equality and we're all pretty much bought into those ideals.
Four eyes
After threatening the purchase of new specs ages ago, I finally did the deed. Here they are:
I apologise for the pose. I have no idea what I was doing at the time.
Sunday 13 August 2006
Miffed
We were wandering around Manchester city centre yesterday afternoon. It wasn't quite hometime and so we decided to nip into Manchester Art Gallery to have a scout round. As usual, I had my camera with me and I thought it'd be nice to take a picture when I saw this:
As soon as I'd taken a couple of snaps, I was pounced upon by a youthful information assistant - decked out with wireless radio earpeace thing and over-officious nature: "Have you got a photgraphy pass? You need a photography pass to be able to take photos in the gallery". Okay, okay, I'll get one. After waiting half an hour at the information desk while the young bloke there gave directions to Urbis to some woman, then phoned their gift shop to see if they did posters of Manchester, I was finally attended to and given my sticker and an agreement which I had to sign and return after my viewing of the exhibitions. Looking more closely at the badly-photocopied agreement, it turned out that I wasn't allowed to take any photos of anything I wanted to photograph and that I had to list all the exhibits that I had photographed.
Well, the whole purpose of the visit was to go and see the "Happy Birthday Miffy" 50th birthday exhibition, and since this was a special collection, I wasn't even allowed to photograph any of it. However, it turned out that I could take photos of people in the galleries, but not the exhibition pieces themselves, so this was ok:
By the same ruling, you'd have thought that this was OK too:
And also this:
As soon as I'd taken a couple of snaps, I was pounced upon by a youthful information assistant - decked out with wireless radio earpeace thing and over-officious nature: "Have you got a photgraphy pass? You need a photography pass to be able to take photos in the gallery". Okay, okay, I'll get one. After waiting half an hour at the information desk while the young bloke there gave directions to Urbis to some woman, then phoned their gift shop to see if they did posters of Manchester, I was finally attended to and given my sticker and an agreement which I had to sign and return after my viewing of the exhibitions. Looking more closely at the badly-photocopied agreement, it turned out that I wasn't allowed to take any photos of anything I wanted to photograph and that I had to list all the exhibits that I had photographed.
Well, the whole purpose of the visit was to go and see the "Happy Birthday Miffy" 50th birthday exhibition, and since this was a special collection, I wasn't even allowed to photograph any of it. However, it turned out that I could take photos of people in the galleries, but not the exhibition pieces themselves, so this was ok:
By the same ruling, you'd have thought that this was OK too:
And also this:
However, while I was taking the photo of lovely Trump, I was approached by a black-clad jobsworth who said, in a none-too-friendly manner: "You can't take photographs of these exhibits, photography pass or not", to which I replied, "I wasn't, I was photographing her".
"There's no photography in this gallery"
Trump told him, "You want to tell him behind us then", pointing out the bloke who we'd overheard being told that it was OK to take pictures of the galleries, but not the exhibitions.
Needless to say, I didn't bother filling in the form about which exhibits I'd photographed since I hadn't really photographed any. The other stuff in the gallery wasn't worth photographing so they could go ninnies with their stupid forms.
Wankers. What difference does it make if you take a photo of some exhibitions so long as it's for personal use.
What I'd wanted to do was to post a picture of that "The Sea" exhibition and sing its praises. Tell folk to go and be part of these interesting, vibrant, colourful, and very intricate pieces of work. They're not really the sorts of things that can be appreciated by photographs alone, that's why I took pictures with people alongside them so there could be an appreciation of scale and light. Unfortunately, since anybody visiting the gallery gets scowled at by the surly members of staff, who essentialy stroll around, acting as if they're it, I'm inclined to tell folk not to bother visiting there at all.
One place to visit is Podz coffee shop on Portland Street in Manchester. I took the boys and they had a whale of a time.
"There's no photography in this gallery"
Trump told him, "You want to tell him behind us then", pointing out the bloke who we'd overheard being told that it was OK to take pictures of the galleries, but not the exhibitions.
Needless to say, I didn't bother filling in the form about which exhibits I'd photographed since I hadn't really photographed any. The other stuff in the gallery wasn't worth photographing so they could go ninnies with their stupid forms.
Wankers. What difference does it make if you take a photo of some exhibitions so long as it's for personal use.
What I'd wanted to do was to post a picture of that "The Sea" exhibition and sing its praises. Tell folk to go and be part of these interesting, vibrant, colourful, and very intricate pieces of work. They're not really the sorts of things that can be appreciated by photographs alone, that's why I took pictures with people alongside them so there could be an appreciation of scale and light. Unfortunately, since anybody visiting the gallery gets scowled at by the surly members of staff, who essentialy stroll around, acting as if they're it, I'm inclined to tell folk not to bother visiting there at all.
One place to visit is Podz coffee shop on Portland Street in Manchester. I took the boys and they had a whale of a time.
Thursday 10 August 2006
A tissue of sighs
I can't imagine life without toilet paper. A few weeks ago, I went to a bar where the ladies' lavs ran out of toilet paper half way through the evening (the cubicles were coming loose and two of the toilets were flooded, so all in all, it wasn't a good situation). But knowing that the toilets didn't have any paper made for a couple of very anxious hours.
When I was a young child - between the ages of about 4 and 10 - school was a very cruel place where they added to your general hopelessness at bum-wiping by providing that toilet paper that was that shiny tracing paper stuff. So, not only were you totally uncoordinated in the activity of wiping your pooey bum, but you also smeared it all over the shop on the most unabsorbent material on earth. They might as well have given us a plastic carrier bag to wipe our arses on. It's no wonder kids get ill all the time. I don't remember hand washing being particularly high on the teacher's agenda, that's for sure.
At home we may never had had a great amount of money, but we always had proper toilet paper. No compromises, it was always Andrex. Then in the late 1980s there was a push to use recycled paper, which I had no choice but to use because I was a student living with a bunch of leftie vegetarians. The stuff wasn't that bad and it opened my eyes to "green" issues and stuff - it opened my eyes to the issues, but I'm still crap on the eco-friendly front.
Now I work for the NHS. Oh joy of joys. Here, the toilets have those huge drums that contain rolls of about 5 rolls-worth of paper... the thinnest, shittiest, most useless fucking toilet paper on the planet. This stuff is up there with the shiny paper of my childhood as being the most annoying example of false economy in the world of arse wiping ever! The problem is this: the paper is very thin and when the roll is full, it's not strong enough to pull the roll around and get a sufficient handful off without breaking off in little bits. So you end up with lots of little bits of toilet paper on the cubicle floor where people have been trying in vain to get the stuff off the roll. Why? Why don't they just buy normal paper for a bit more money, but without the waste? Tossers. I wouldn't mind, but if you go into certain patient areas, they have the really good stuff.
Not to worry, at least we have proper drains here that can take toilet paper. Over in Greece, you have to put it into a bin next to the lav. Imagine that? Just imagine somebody with my bowels, having to put used toilet paper into a bin next to the toilet. Well, that's exactly what I'll be doing in a few weeks' time because I'm off on my jollies again to Skiathos for a week. Should be OK I reckon, although I think I'll be buying an air freshener... or saving my poos for the public toilets so I don't have to live with them.
Terror and panic
Of course, at this rate, I won't even be getting there! Who'd have thought that a simple increase in airport security could lead to the shutdown of entire airline network? Fucking idiots. Don't they realise that this sort of thing is exactly what terrorism thrives on? All they had to do was say "Take your essential documents and medicines out of your hand baggage, all baggage goes in the hold. Anybody who argues is being ejected from the airport". Instead, you get a load panic and all flights cancelled. It's beyond me.
You see, in the present climate of panic that has been introduced by our wonderful leaders, these terrorists don't even need to plot anything destructive at all. All they have to do is spend a few months going to internet cafes and e-mailing their mates with messages about proposed attacks. Keep it going long enough and the security service will intercept and track them, put 2 and 2 together to make 48 and then send out all these alarmist messages that grind the country to a halt. No bombs, no chemicals, no intention, just a few e-mails.
I don't know what's going on in this crazy world. I know that people who travel by air have been villified for ruining the environment, but blowing up planes to discourage people from flying is going a bit too far.
When I was a young child - between the ages of about 4 and 10 - school was a very cruel place where they added to your general hopelessness at bum-wiping by providing that toilet paper that was that shiny tracing paper stuff. So, not only were you totally uncoordinated in the activity of wiping your pooey bum, but you also smeared it all over the shop on the most unabsorbent material on earth. They might as well have given us a plastic carrier bag to wipe our arses on. It's no wonder kids get ill all the time. I don't remember hand washing being particularly high on the teacher's agenda, that's for sure.
At home we may never had had a great amount of money, but we always had proper toilet paper. No compromises, it was always Andrex. Then in the late 1980s there was a push to use recycled paper, which I had no choice but to use because I was a student living with a bunch of leftie vegetarians. The stuff wasn't that bad and it opened my eyes to "green" issues and stuff - it opened my eyes to the issues, but I'm still crap on the eco-friendly front.
Now I work for the NHS. Oh joy of joys. Here, the toilets have those huge drums that contain rolls of about 5 rolls-worth of paper... the thinnest, shittiest, most useless fucking toilet paper on the planet. This stuff is up there with the shiny paper of my childhood as being the most annoying example of false economy in the world of arse wiping ever! The problem is this: the paper is very thin and when the roll is full, it's not strong enough to pull the roll around and get a sufficient handful off without breaking off in little bits. So you end up with lots of little bits of toilet paper on the cubicle floor where people have been trying in vain to get the stuff off the roll. Why? Why don't they just buy normal paper for a bit more money, but without the waste? Tossers. I wouldn't mind, but if you go into certain patient areas, they have the really good stuff.
Not to worry, at least we have proper drains here that can take toilet paper. Over in Greece, you have to put it into a bin next to the lav. Imagine that? Just imagine somebody with my bowels, having to put used toilet paper into a bin next to the toilet. Well, that's exactly what I'll be doing in a few weeks' time because I'm off on my jollies again to Skiathos for a week. Should be OK I reckon, although I think I'll be buying an air freshener... or saving my poos for the public toilets so I don't have to live with them.
Terror and panic
Of course, at this rate, I won't even be getting there! Who'd have thought that a simple increase in airport security could lead to the shutdown of entire airline network? Fucking idiots. Don't they realise that this sort of thing is exactly what terrorism thrives on? All they had to do was say "Take your essential documents and medicines out of your hand baggage, all baggage goes in the hold. Anybody who argues is being ejected from the airport". Instead, you get a load panic and all flights cancelled. It's beyond me.
You see, in the present climate of panic that has been introduced by our wonderful leaders, these terrorists don't even need to plot anything destructive at all. All they have to do is spend a few months going to internet cafes and e-mailing their mates with messages about proposed attacks. Keep it going long enough and the security service will intercept and track them, put 2 and 2 together to make 48 and then send out all these alarmist messages that grind the country to a halt. No bombs, no chemicals, no intention, just a few e-mails.
I don't know what's going on in this crazy world. I know that people who travel by air have been villified for ruining the environment, but blowing up planes to discourage people from flying is going a bit too far.
Wednesday 9 August 2006
Prawn cocktail
Here's a scenario for everyone. Person A works in an office environment in Location 2a that has a shared kitchen facility that includes a fridge, sink, microwave, toaster, dishwasher. One Thursday, Person A buys a packet of prawns in the "EAT WITHIN 24hr!" section of Asda and takes them into work for their lunch. At lunchtime they open the prawns and pour the excess liquid down the kitchen sink. If you were Person A, would you:
a) Leave the liquid sitting in the sink, or
b) Flush it down with plenty of hot water?
Person A doesn't eat all the prawns so they put half in a sealed container and leave it in the salad compartment of the fridge... should be OK for another day. On the Friday, Person A packs up and finishes work for a week's well-deserved annual leave. If you were Person A, would you:
a) Remove prawns from the fridge and throw them away, or
b) Leave them in the fridge?
Persons B, C, D and E are the colleagues of our resident prawn-fancier. They come to work on the Monday and Tuesday and must surely notice the increasingly bad smell in the fridge. Do they:
a) Investigate, but leave it for the cleaner to deal with,
b) Investigate and throw out the offending peeled crustaceans,
c) Amongst four people, not actually notice?
Person Sniffy works in another location on Mondays and Tuesdays and comes to location 2a for the first time on Wednesday of the week. On opening the fridge, they notice a disgusting smell and, on putting their cans of pop into the salad drawer, they realise that the prawns that were put there the previous Thursday were still there. Does Person Sniffy:
a) Leave them there,
b) Take them out and leave them on the side for Person A to see and deal with,
c) Take them out and leave them on the side and not realise that Person A is on holiday?
Persons B, C and D come to work (E doesn't work Wednesdays). A commotion ensues as they notice the Prawns. A full scale enquiry leads them to conclude that the cleaner must've been tidying up the fridge and left them there; they go on to ponder why the cleaner hadn't thrown them away. They probably also ponder why the cleaner hadn't wiped their arses for them.
Before anybody can say "NO, DON'T DO THAT!!!!", does Person C:
a) Put the whole thing unopened in the bin in the kitchen,
b) Open the container in the kitchen and throw the prawns in the bin there,
c) Open the container in the kitchen and run from the kitchen to the toilet near the offices, wafting the smell across the entire floor, before flushing them down the toilet and churning up even more fucking smell that fills the entire fucking building for two fucking hours?????
Jesus fucking Christ, how thick ARE these people?
Of course the smell induced a schoolgirl-type hysteria amongst Persons B and D and it gave them the excuse to run around, opening windows, spraying perfume and shouting a lot saying "It's not us.. hee, hee, hee... we're having a problem with prawns!".
I am in my happy place (plaice).
An edit: Too much information
I've just been reading on the BBC Website about the conviction of two brothers for the manslaughter of a young boy in 2000. The case was highly publicised and it took a while for the killers to be found. It seems that justice may have been done today.
I can't believe the reporting though. What is it with so-called journalists that thay seem compelled to flower up their reports with unnecessary editorial shite? Get this:
"Damilola was surrounded by a gang of youths in Blakes Road, Peckham, as he made his way from an after-school club at Peckham library to his home on the run-down North Peckham Estate.
Christ almighty, get a fucking grip.
a) Leave the liquid sitting in the sink, or
b) Flush it down with plenty of hot water?
Person A doesn't eat all the prawns so they put half in a sealed container and leave it in the salad compartment of the fridge... should be OK for another day. On the Friday, Person A packs up and finishes work for a week's well-deserved annual leave. If you were Person A, would you:
a) Remove prawns from the fridge and throw them away, or
b) Leave them in the fridge?
Persons B, C, D and E are the colleagues of our resident prawn-fancier. They come to work on the Monday and Tuesday and must surely notice the increasingly bad smell in the fridge. Do they:
a) Investigate, but leave it for the cleaner to deal with,
b) Investigate and throw out the offending peeled crustaceans,
c) Amongst four people, not actually notice?
Person Sniffy works in another location on Mondays and Tuesdays and comes to location 2a for the first time on Wednesday of the week. On opening the fridge, they notice a disgusting smell and, on putting their cans of pop into the salad drawer, they realise that the prawns that were put there the previous Thursday were still there. Does Person Sniffy:
a) Leave them there,
b) Take them out and leave them on the side for Person A to see and deal with,
c) Take them out and leave them on the side and not realise that Person A is on holiday?
Persons B, C and D come to work (E doesn't work Wednesdays). A commotion ensues as they notice the Prawns. A full scale enquiry leads them to conclude that the cleaner must've been tidying up the fridge and left them there; they go on to ponder why the cleaner hadn't thrown them away. They probably also ponder why the cleaner hadn't wiped their arses for them.
Before anybody can say "NO, DON'T DO THAT!!!!", does Person C:
a) Put the whole thing unopened in the bin in the kitchen,
b) Open the container in the kitchen and throw the prawns in the bin there,
c) Open the container in the kitchen and run from the kitchen to the toilet near the offices, wafting the smell across the entire floor, before flushing them down the toilet and churning up even more fucking smell that fills the entire fucking building for two fucking hours?????
Jesus fucking Christ, how thick ARE these people?
Of course the smell induced a schoolgirl-type hysteria amongst Persons B and D and it gave them the excuse to run around, opening windows, spraying perfume and shouting a lot saying "It's not us.. hee, hee, hee... we're having a problem with prawns!".
I am in my happy place (plaice).
An edit: Too much information
I've just been reading on the BBC Website about the conviction of two brothers for the manslaughter of a young boy in 2000. The case was highly publicised and it took a while for the killers to be found. It seems that justice may have been done today.
I can't believe the reporting though. What is it with so-called journalists that thay seem compelled to flower up their reports with unnecessary editorial shite? Get this:
"Damilola was surrounded by a gang of youths in Blakes Road, Peckham, as he made his way from an after-school club at Peckham library to his home on the run-down North Peckham Estate.
Someone broke a small, green beer bottle leaving a shard of glass which was used to stab Damilola in his left thigh. By the time he limped along the road and up two flights of a filthy stairwell, he was near death."
By the time he limped along the road and up two flights of a filthy stairwell, he was near death.
Christ almighty, get a fucking grip.
Thursday 3 August 2006
An "Ardenned" Aldi fan
One of my early Cakesniffy posts concerned the adulation of Aldi by my colleagues here. I scoffed as they anticipated the following week's special offers and wondered how they could spend an entire day talking about Aldi bargains. Well, I too am a real fan of Aldi, although I don't think I could spend a whole day extoling its virtues.
Next week, I can pick up a blood pressure monitor for a tenner, a four-slice toaster for fifteen quid, a USB-enabled portable CD radio cassette for £20, or some nectarines at 44p a punnet. All bargains, all fantastic quality.
In addition to the bargains, there are the every day groceries that cost a fraction of the price that you'd pay in the real shops - the only difference is that they aren't brand names. I'm particularly partial to their wholemeal rye bread (69p compared with 99p at Tesco) with a nice spreading of pate. Aldi do a selection of pates too, and this is where I get confused. I like the pate that is nice and smooth, but I can't abide the one that resembles mashed up cat food. One is Brussels and one is Ardennes, but I can never remember which is which.
In a game of pate Russian roulette today, I lost. When will I ever learn that it's Brussels pate that I like and not Ardennes? Honestly.
On returning to work after my shopping expedition, I immediately noticed a very strong fishy smell on the upstairs landing of the building (where my office is). I went into the kitchen where the smell was stronger. I realised that somebody had drained a packet of prawns into the kitchen sink and not rinsed it down with hot water, thus allowing the fishy liquor to fester in the sink. How delightful.
Sniffy newsround - Having a Barney and other shite on the BBC news website today
When somebody has a tantrum, or flies off into a rage or argument with somebody, it's sometimes described as "having a barney". Some pooches take their names too seriously. Fantastic.
Also in the news, it's nice to see that Tony Blair is continuing with his insane plan to introduce ID cards. "They're still going to be in the Labour manifesto for the next general election".
Fuck that. That tosser will have escaped the country by then and been installed as the latest hot property on the US talk show and lecture circuit. How nice for some to be able to leave behind the chaos that they created.
And they wonder why 54% of people polled said they'd considered emigrating from the UK - with 13% hoping to do so in the next couple of years.
Ho hum. I knew I should've dug my heels in and claimed asylum while I was in Canada.
Positive discrimination
I'd hate to be blind and I don't think I'd cope too well if I lost my sight. But blind people do cope, and very well too. People are very adaptable, remarkable even, and they either learn ways of dealing with their disabilities in order that they do not cause handicap, or there are other aids that can be used to allow folk to get on with their lives.
Why do blind people get the cutest dogs though? I just saw a black labrador puppy that was being trained as a guide dog. He was SO cute, but utterly rubbish at obeying instructions; plodding along with his big feet, sniffing all the pasty wrappers that had been dropped on the floor, head lolling about as he wandered along, ignoring his handler.
I wonder if there's somewhere I could buy a guide dog reject?
Next week, I can pick up a blood pressure monitor for a tenner, a four-slice toaster for fifteen quid, a USB-enabled portable CD radio cassette for £20, or some nectarines at 44p a punnet. All bargains, all fantastic quality.
In addition to the bargains, there are the every day groceries that cost a fraction of the price that you'd pay in the real shops - the only difference is that they aren't brand names. I'm particularly partial to their wholemeal rye bread (69p compared with 99p at Tesco) with a nice spreading of pate. Aldi do a selection of pates too, and this is where I get confused. I like the pate that is nice and smooth, but I can't abide the one that resembles mashed up cat food. One is Brussels and one is Ardennes, but I can never remember which is which.
In a game of pate Russian roulette today, I lost. When will I ever learn that it's Brussels pate that I like and not Ardennes? Honestly.
On returning to work after my shopping expedition, I immediately noticed a very strong fishy smell on the upstairs landing of the building (where my office is). I went into the kitchen where the smell was stronger. I realised that somebody had drained a packet of prawns into the kitchen sink and not rinsed it down with hot water, thus allowing the fishy liquor to fester in the sink. How delightful.
Sniffy newsround - Having a Barney and other shite on the BBC news website today
When somebody has a tantrum, or flies off into a rage or argument with somebody, it's sometimes described as "having a barney". Some pooches take their names too seriously. Fantastic.
Also in the news, it's nice to see that Tony Blair is continuing with his insane plan to introduce ID cards. "They're still going to be in the Labour manifesto for the next general election".
Fuck that. That tosser will have escaped the country by then and been installed as the latest hot property on the US talk show and lecture circuit. How nice for some to be able to leave behind the chaos that they created.
And they wonder why 54% of people polled said they'd considered emigrating from the UK - with 13% hoping to do so in the next couple of years.
Ho hum. I knew I should've dug my heels in and claimed asylum while I was in Canada.
Positive discrimination
I'd hate to be blind and I don't think I'd cope too well if I lost my sight. But blind people do cope, and very well too. People are very adaptable, remarkable even, and they either learn ways of dealing with their disabilities in order that they do not cause handicap, or there are other aids that can be used to allow folk to get on with their lives.
Why do blind people get the cutest dogs though? I just saw a black labrador puppy that was being trained as a guide dog. He was SO cute, but utterly rubbish at obeying instructions; plodding along with his big feet, sniffing all the pasty wrappers that had been dropped on the floor, head lolling about as he wandered along, ignoring his handler.
I wonder if there's somewhere I could buy a guide dog reject?
Wednesday 2 August 2006
On board
You know those annoying signs that people have in their cars, like "baby on board", "mum to be on board", "princess on board", "Cakesniffer on board"? Well, imagine if you saw one of these on a car...
Then a one of these got out of it?
Fantastic!
Do you think Princess Anne has a Princess on Board notice hanging in the back window of her Range Rover? Of all the people in the world, she really is the only one who should have one. I suppose Beatrice and Eugenie could, but they don't really count for much princess-wise. When it comes to HRHs, the Princess Royal is top of the shop.
"Angel on board" Hark! Peace on Earth, good will unto men. Do not fear for I bring you great news this day: they're giving away a free top wash with every £30 of petrol at the Shell garage!"
Cocque au vin
This is the French name for chicken in wine sauce, whereas "cock au van" refers to the fucking idiot in the people carrier who decided to stop in the middle fucking big clearway without indicating, just so he could look at a roadsign.
Wanker.
Garden bling
Cock au manky vest is of course my scumbag neighbour. For the past couple of nights, I've been kept awake by the sound of what I thought was some sort of pheasant/goose/fox creature honking or barking its way through the night. I've just realised what it really is: yes, yet another fucking wind chime hanging from my stupid cunt neighbour's washing line. This particular garden adornment is a wooden thing that makes the most ridiculous noise all through the fucking night. How can anybody find these things relaxing or nice? It's beyond me how people don't realise how much frigging disturbance they cause. What is wrong with people that, with every single thing that they do, they simply have to do things that cause a disturbance?
This is the last straw: I'm going to burn their house down later. Useless, waste of space, sponging, lazy, greedy, fuckers. Since all their garden bling has essentially been paid for with my money, I feel it's my right to go round there and take it back. Then burn it in a nice bonfire.
Friends reunited
I got an e-mail yesterday from a woman who I knew when I was at secondary school. She was one of the nice ones; most girls were a bit self obsessed and shallow, with only a few who were actually capable of stringing a sentence together without them falling into tears over some boy who'd been two-timing them. We'd done that "friends reunited" catch up e-mail thing a few years back, but not maintained contact. I've always said that people tend to stay in touch with good friends, but it's always nice to know how other folk are getting on and that.
Anyway, and this is the spooky bit, she e-mailed me because she'd discovered my blog by accident. Totally by accident by a link from another blog. How scary is that?
I wonder if my twat neighbours know how to use a computer? They can obviously read because they know how to fill out benefit claim forms, but I'm not sure whether they've advanced to the internet yet.
Stalked
For the past couple of years I had the pleasure of working with an exceptional colleague. She left her post last week and has gone on to greater things. However, during her time with us, she often claimed to know what my blog was called, despite me refusing to let anybody at work know about it. She left a parting clue that might indicate that she wasn't calling my bluff and she might actually know about this creation of mine. Personally, I can't believe that people would expend energy on trying to find it, but some folk are a bit odd.
Although I don't generally go on about that particular set of colleagues, I think I did on one occasion. She can't have read the bit where I mentioned her saying pacific instead of specific because she still got it wrong to the day she finished!
Knock three times if you're there Cara.
Then a one of these got out of it?
Fantastic!
Do you think Princess Anne has a Princess on Board notice hanging in the back window of her Range Rover? Of all the people in the world, she really is the only one who should have one. I suppose Beatrice and Eugenie could, but they don't really count for much princess-wise. When it comes to HRHs, the Princess Royal is top of the shop.
"Angel on board" Hark! Peace on Earth, good will unto men. Do not fear for I bring you great news this day: they're giving away a free top wash with every £30 of petrol at the Shell garage!"
Cocque au vin
This is the French name for chicken in wine sauce, whereas "cock au van" refers to the fucking idiot in the people carrier who decided to stop in the middle fucking big clearway without indicating, just so he could look at a roadsign.
Wanker.
Garden bling
Cock au manky vest is of course my scumbag neighbour. For the past couple of nights, I've been kept awake by the sound of what I thought was some sort of pheasant/goose/fox creature honking or barking its way through the night. I've just realised what it really is: yes, yet another fucking wind chime hanging from my stupid cunt neighbour's washing line. This particular garden adornment is a wooden thing that makes the most ridiculous noise all through the fucking night. How can anybody find these things relaxing or nice? It's beyond me how people don't realise how much frigging disturbance they cause. What is wrong with people that, with every single thing that they do, they simply have to do things that cause a disturbance?
This is the last straw: I'm going to burn their house down later. Useless, waste of space, sponging, lazy, greedy, fuckers. Since all their garden bling has essentially been paid for with my money, I feel it's my right to go round there and take it back. Then burn it in a nice bonfire.
Friends reunited
I got an e-mail yesterday from a woman who I knew when I was at secondary school. She was one of the nice ones; most girls were a bit self obsessed and shallow, with only a few who were actually capable of stringing a sentence together without them falling into tears over some boy who'd been two-timing them. We'd done that "friends reunited" catch up e-mail thing a few years back, but not maintained contact. I've always said that people tend to stay in touch with good friends, but it's always nice to know how other folk are getting on and that.
Anyway, and this is the spooky bit, she e-mailed me because she'd discovered my blog by accident. Totally by accident by a link from another blog. How scary is that?
I wonder if my twat neighbours know how to use a computer? They can obviously read because they know how to fill out benefit claim forms, but I'm not sure whether they've advanced to the internet yet.
Stalked
For the past couple of years I had the pleasure of working with an exceptional colleague. She left her post last week and has gone on to greater things. However, during her time with us, she often claimed to know what my blog was called, despite me refusing to let anybody at work know about it. She left a parting clue that might indicate that she wasn't calling my bluff and she might actually know about this creation of mine. Personally, I can't believe that people would expend energy on trying to find it, but some folk are a bit odd.
Although I don't generally go on about that particular set of colleagues, I think I did on one occasion. She can't have read the bit where I mentioned her saying pacific instead of specific because she still got it wrong to the day she finished!
Knock three times if you're there Cara.
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